Charge Their Doings Brotherhood AU
by Tidia
Summary: Using Ridley's Brotherhood AU, Caleb is supposed to meet Dean & Sam for Christmas,but trouble finds him trapped in the past, present and future.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Charge Their Doings**

**By: **Tidia

**Disclaimer:** The Brotherhood AU belongs to Ridley C. James. (**Other authors who plan to use Caleb or The Brotherhood should use the same disclaimer to give the proper credit :))** Supernatural to Kripke.

**Warning:** It is a Christmas fic, but yes, I am giving a language warning.

**Notes:** This is a joint effort fic with Ridley. Each fic is a fic within itself. This fic it from Ridley's Caleb's point of view. Ridley's fic is called The Best and Worst of Times and features Dean and Sam. She will post on the 26th. We will then conclude the fics together, and hope you enjoy it. Have a Merry Christmas! Especially the Rowdies.

**Part 1**

**_"There are some upon this earth of yours," returned the Spirit, "who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all out kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us." _**

**_A Christmas Carol_**

Caleb fumbled with the lock-there seemed to be two of them. He couldn't synchronize the card and his hand to turn the knob when the light turned green. Finally, he put his shoulder into the door and stumbled into the room. He crashed onto the floor, getting up close and personal to the rough, burgundy carpeting.

"Fuckin' Joshua, fuckin' Boone." He got to his hands and feet, then used the bed to bring himself to a sitting position on the bed. He took off his shirt, getting tangled in the sleeves before he was finally released from the material. He was hot, and could see his skin was flushed especially around his collar bone.

"Dammit." He swallowed. He was parched. He wished he felt ill because of a wicked hangover, but that wasn't the case. He stood up, trying to lurch into the bathroom but instead ended face down in the other double bed.

Reaves lay that way for awhile, awaken by the uncomfortable sensation of John's ring digging into his chest. He had taken to wearing the former Knight's band around his neck, on a chain. John rarely wore the ring when he was alive, but he wanted to pay some sort of tribute to his mentor. He owed the man much, to watch over John's sons.

There was no way he was going to be able to keep his promise to Sam and Dean. He wasn't going to make Christmas, let alone the rest of his life. They wouldn't be happy with him, even if he was dead. 'Sam,' he thought for a moment.

Caleb grabbed his head. The throbbing felt like his head would split in two. His stomach twisted and he rolled into a fetal position. "Poison in the drink." He said out loud, disgusted he had been so easily duped. Boone and Joshua had passed along some information about a cult with possible connections to the demon. Caleb had garnered expertise in cults over the years, finding most of their beliefs based on some truth. In this case, the truth was The Order of the Solar Temple did not trust strangers. "God, help me."

"No, I am sure he is busy with important matters."

Caleb uncurled himself, groaning as he rolled to the other side of the bed, pulling the knife from its ankle sheath ready to defend himself. At the head of the bed was the hotel clerk who had checked him in a few days ago. Dark hair was swept over for a bad comb over, pasty skin and yellow glowing eyes. "What the hell?"

"Maybe it should be who in the hell?" The demon smirked, noticing, he was not getting the reaction he wanted from the hunter. He shrugged his shoulders. "No? Not that amusing?"

"No. Not so much." He had never had any experience with the Winchesters' demon. He tried to remember everything John and the boys had told him, but it wasn't much. The search for the demon had been a personal quest, the other hunters not included. Caleb felt ill-prepared.

"Quite a predicament you got yourself in." The demon gestured to the edge of the bed, and took a seat. Reaves threw the knife and scrambled for the holy water, only to have the knife returned to him and land in the headboard a mere inch from his face. "That won't work, not here," the demon said then gestured to the holy water Caleb had been reaching for, "and not that either."

Caleb wiped his brow. He needed to be calm, if he was to walk out of this situation alive. "Why are you here?"

"A friendly visit," the demon said, folding his hands together.

"Why a hotel clerk?" Reaves relied on his sarcasm. It was unnerving having the demon this close, and to be helpless, not only from the poison but there seemed to be a strange buzzing in his head. "Why not Jessica Alba or Angelina Jolie? That's who I would want paying me a friendly visit."

The demon cocked his head to the left, yellow eyes glowing. "Not going to ask me about John?"

Caleb pulled himself up into a sitting position. He stared, unblinking in the eyes of the bane of the Winchester family. "I assume he's giving you, well you know. . ." Still keeping his eyes on the demon, the psychic pulled the knife from the headboard. "I know about the deal and it's gonna bite you in the ass."

"Really? Wait, let me guess?" The clerk stood up and walked around the room. "You think the Brotherhood will undermine me?" He started to laugh and sauntered to the Caleb's bedside. "Please, every decade in one form or another they have existed and look, I am still here. Imagine that." He bent down low, his mouth near the psychic's ear. "You can not stop me and neither can the Winchesters."

Reaves felt his strength ebbing, but brought his hands around the neck of the demon and began to squeeze. "Hell isn't big enough for all of us. Stay away from Sam and Dean."

The demon laughed and tears flowed down his face. Caleb let go unable to hold on. "I am familiar with your family. Actions tell," the demon continued to revel in mirth.

"Shut up." Reaves backed away, wiped a hand down his mouth and felt the heat emanating off his own body.

The hotel clerk sobered, and squared his shoulders. "Not yet. You will be visited by my minions. . ."

"Seriously, Dude, A Christmas Carol?" Caleb interrupted. He tried to work up some saliva to moisten his mouth. "Been there, read that," he said thickly.

"Think of me as Marley, your old friend, telling you of things to come. And the people I'm sending you tonight, well, they are special." The demon explained, clearly disappointed the psychic misunderstood the situation. "This is not like the book. That was about second chances, and we know how this version will end."

Caleb narrowed his eyes, trying to think of a quick response. The words died on his lips as his eyes closed again, his body a willing participant to the demon's plans even though his mind rebelled.

Reaves didn't know how long he was unconscious, but eventually he awoke again, peeled his eyes open and was startled to find someone else in his room. He closed his eyes again. He had to call for help, but felt so heavy and lethargic. "Can't I just be left alone?" Caleb groaned. He wondered what kind of poison was used on him to cause these hallucinations, and got the feeling that perhaps this was more reality than not. The psychic opened his eyes once again, studying the man sitting on the other bed. "Damn, is it you?"

John Winchester gave a weary grin, which didn't reach his eyes. "I can't answer that."

"Okay." Reaves pushed himself up, only to crumple back down into the bed. "I . . ." Caleb started, wanting to say so much to this image of John, but unsure if this was really John Winchester returned from the dead.

John interrupted, not letting Caleb form a coherent question. "You don't look good."

The psychic studied his deceased mentor. He was still rugged looking, but pale, and aged. "You look a little rough around the edges too." Reaves pinched the bridge of his nose. "Aren't you going to ask me about your sons?" If he knew anything about John Winchester, it was that the man loved his sons.

John leaned forward. "This isn't about them, it's about you."

"That's not comforting," Caleb whispered, and turned his head away from John. He ached, his heart ached, and he yet he felt detached as if this was happening to another person, not to him.

John scratched the stubble on his chin. "I'm not into kind words and emotional displays."

"You never were. More of a kick ass, shit-eating grin type." Reaves looked back with a smirk. He wanted to take in this image of John Winchester, burn it into his memory. "So why are you here?"

"Remember the first Christmas we spent together back in eighty-four? You were a cocky teenager." John shook his head. "You know, not much has changed."

"Wait, you're the ghost of Christmas past? Greeeaaat." Reaves paused for a moment. "Oh, God, I think I had a mullet back then." Caleb groaned, masking the fact the groan was more from his fevered body than the bad hair memory. "And this is important –why?"

"You'll see." John closed his eyes and the psychic was brought back twenty years.

Caleb took refuge in the Pastor's kitchen. His adopted father was there, stringing popcorn with a needle and thread as if he was performing life-saving surgery. "The carolers are giving me a headache. They're so fu--," he cut himself off, as Jim walked into the room, "happy."

"Tis the season," Jim replied, humming along with the carolers' rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

The soon to be fourteen-year-old slumped down into a chair next to Mac. "I'm a kid whose birthday is near Christmas. We always get screwed this time of year. 'Tis the season to be screwed."

Ames spared a glance at his dejected son. They had only been father and son for a little over a year. And the renowned doctor knew his son didn't enjoy the holidays. "John is coming to spend Christmas with us."

Caleb perked up, sitting up straight in his chair. "Cool."

"And his sons," Jim added, opening up the oven to check on the roast warming inside.

"Creepy kid and the drooling baby—fuunnn." The teen shrugged his shoulders. "When?"

Mac looked at his watch. "Now."

The doorbell rang, and Jim went to the front door with a grin. Caleb could hear the Pastor's loud voice from the kitchen. "Merry Christmas, John! Hello, Dean, Merry Christmas to you too."

Mac stood up, and pulled on his son's sleeve, gesturing for him to stand up and greet the guests too.

John was shifting Sam from one shoulder to the other, and taking off his jacket. Dean stood by his father. The older Winchester handed his coat to the minister. "Thanks for inviting us. My friends just had a baby, and after Thanksgiving, I didn't know if I could be around that. . ."

"Sam's sleeping," Dean commented, getting the minister's attention.

Jim smiled at the sleeping baby, whose mouth gaped open with a soft snore. "Okay, why don't we put him on the floor?"

John put him gently down on the carpeted floor, while Dean grabbed the afghan and pillows from the couch. He surrounded his baby brother with the pillows and then covered him with the blanket.

Caleb rolled his eyes at the scene. The kid was too weird. Mac was talking to John, but turned to glare at his son.

Jim ushered Dean over to Caleb. "You remember Caleb and Mac from the summer."

Dean nodded, not looking up to either, but glancing to his father instead who gave him a nod.

John pointed to his oldest son's jacket pocket. There was some red construction paper sticking out. "Dean made a Christmas ornament at school. He was hoping he could hang it on your tree?"

Caleb shook his head, as Mac bent down and pulled the ornament carefully out of the child's jacket. "Hallmark does it a lot better."

The doctor placed the ornament on the floor, and helped the boy take off his jacket. He handed it to his son with a warning, "Caleb."

"What?" Reaves took the jacket, and immediately passed it on the minister.

Jim pointed to the evergreen tree in the corner, which was still not completely decorated. "Sure, Dean, pick out any place you want."

Ames shook his head, the teen still not comprehending what his father expected him to do. Mac went into the kitchen and retrieved the garland he was working on. Dean stood before the tree, searching a location for his ornament.

"How about up there? I'll give you a lift." Mac suggested.

Dean looked up at the doctor, doubtfully, but admired the location in the tree, which he couldn't reach alone. He nodded, and Mac lifted him up to place the ornament near the golden star.

"That looks great, son," John stated with a glass of amber liquid firmly in his hand.

The men finished decorating the tree with Caleb alternating between making suggestions on where to place the ornaments and insulting the decorating abilities of the other hunters. "Charlie Brown's tree looks a whole hell of a lot of better."

The noise woke up two-year old Sam, who was in awe of the Christmas lights. He opened and closed his hands. "Up!" he said to the adults. He smiled and pointed to the lights. "Pretty lights."

The group sat down for dinner of a roast, mashed potatoes and carrots. Dessert was kindly donated by parishioners of Jim's church. Sated, the minister read the story of the nativity to the two youngsters while Caleb, Mac and John played poker.

Satisfied with his cards, and that he would win this hand, Caleb made conversation with John Winchester. "I've been practicing that stuff you taught me last time." He hoped to learn more from the older man.

Winchester glanced at Ames before answering the teen. "Think you're ready for some other moves?"

"Yeah, of course," Reaves answered excitedly. He wanted to learn a new combat move as soon as possible. He was already involved with karate classes too. He was interrupted by Dean.

"Sir, Sam needs to go to bed now." The five year old stated, as Mary and Joseph had just made it to the manger. The youngest Winchester had fallen asleep in his brother's lap.

The Pastor closed the Bible. "Dean, you can call me Jim, okay?"

"Yes, Sir, I mean Jim, but Sammy." Dean stood up, picking up his little brother. He held him tight, although he shouldn't have the responsibility of bearing the chubby baby.

John started to rise, but Mac stopped him. "Caleb, why don't you help Dean?"

Caleb snorted in disbelief, studying his cards again. "No, Dad,"

Mac pulled the cards from his adopted son's hands, closed them, and laid them on the table. "Yes, son."

"I'm winning." Reaves turned over the cards and fanned them out showing his winning hand.

Mac shook his head. "No, you're giving both John and I headache." He ruffled Caleb's hair to soften the criticism. The teen immediately neatened his locks. "When you try to read us you lack finesse."

"Feels like a jackhammer, kid," John commented and then showed his cards-four Jacks. "I think I was going to win this hand."

Caleb slid his chair back with a huff. Dean stood near his father, watching the exchange. The teen took the sleeping toddler out of the five-year-old's hands.

"Night, Ace. Merry Christmas." John gave his son a brief hug. Dean squirmed away and started after Caleb who was climbing the stairs to the second floor.

The teen heard the little footsteps behind him. Caleb knew he was being sent to keep the children occupied. The adults were putting a bike together for Dean. To think it took a mechanic, a neurosurgeon and a minister to put together a bike showed it was a sad state of affairs in the world of the Brotherhood.

He entered the room that had been set up for the brothers. The teen didn't know what to do next. "Well?" he said to the five-year-old following behind.

"He needs his diaper changed." Dean crossed his arms, waiting to see Caleb's reaction.

Reaves didn't do diaper duty. He actually didn't even like kids. He handed the sleeping toddler back to his brother. "That's all you kid."

Dean accepted the burden, placing his sleeping brother on the floor. He unzipped the fleecy pajamas, and expertly changed the diaper with little Sam only fidgeting a little before falling back asleep. "I can take care of him. You don't have to stay."

Caleb shook his head. Mac had practically ordered him to go with Dean and Sam. He couldn't go back downstairs without a good excuse. "I'm staying. Probably going to be eating at the kid's table tomorrow too."

The five-year-old handed his brother to the teen. He pulled out a stuffed lamb, and wound it up, placing it near his brother. The musical strains of When You Wish Upon A Star wafted through the room. "You need to make sure he doesn't slip off the bed." Dean waited until Caleb nodded, before disappearing into the bathroom with his little knapsack.

He quickly returned wearing pajamas with Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers. Caleb had started humming the Disney song, then caught himself and gave Dean a withering look. "Those are embarrassing."

The boy ignored the teen, and climbed into the twin bed, cuddling close to his brother. Caleb moved over, slightly, his long legs almost hanging over the side of the bed. A few minutes ticked by, and Reaves noticed the five-year-old still had not closed his eyes. "Are you going to sleep?"

"Not tired. I have to watch over Sammy."

Caleb rolled his eyes. The toddler was snoring; oblivious he had an audience watching over him. "Jim put stockings by your bed." He gestured to the red and white striped socks hooked on the knobs of the nightstand.

"Yep," Dean gave them a quick glance.

Caleb sighed. Talking to Dean was difficult. The teen let his mind open, knowing he would easily be able to touch the boy's mind since there were no barriers in place unlike Mac and John. He flinched when one thought came through loud and clear. "Oh, kid, don't go there."

Dean frowned in puzzlement. "I'm not going anywhere."

Reaves brushed his hand through his hair. He was thirteen, almost fourteen. He didn't consider himself a bad person, but here he was placed in an awkward situation. Mac was always telling him that telling the truth was always easier than creating a lie. But, lies came easier for him. This case warranted the truth. "Santa's not going to bring your mom back."

Dean lifted his head, propping himself up on his elbows. "You don't know that." The boy said quietly, and gripped a piece of Sam's pajama tightly.

Caleb tried to assure the boy. He had gone through the same thing when his parents had died. He understood only too well what Dean Winchester was going through. "It didn't work last year." He turned so he was facing the five-year-old. "Look, kid, I know. When my mom and dad died I went to go and live with my grandmother. She was good to me, but she wasn't my Mom and Dad." Caleb felt his heart break a little as he told Dean about his past. He still missed them-his parents and his grandmother. "You're lucky kid; at least you got your dad." Reaves cleared his throat. Had one of his parents lived, or his grandmother then he wouldn't have been placed in foster care or at that psychiatric hospital. Caleb counted himself lucky Mac had found him.

Dean looked away, and let go of his brother's pajamas. "There's no such thing as Santa Claus, is there?"

Caleb was relieved he didn't have to be the person to tell a five-year-old that Santa didn't exist. He never understood why people wanted to delude children with the promises of a man in a red suit who could make all dreams come true. He stopped believing when Santa didn't return his parents. "No, but you're not surprised."

Dean shook his head. He smiled down at his brother. "But, Sammy believes in Santa."

"Yeah, I can see that." Caleb didn't believe the toddler had any opinion about Santa, but maybe he would be a Santa believer until he was at least seven maybe even eight. Reaves wouldn't admit it, but having the baby blob cuddled next to him was comforting. Caleb though didn't want to go down the road of the warm and fuzzies. "Hey, why are you talking to me?"

Dean lay down once more on his side, facing the teen and his brother. "'Cause you're a kid, like me."

Caleb snorted, that was a misconception he needed to correct. "Dude, I'm gonna be 14 in a week. I'm so not a kid."

The five-year-old nodded. He closed his eyes, and Caleb thought he was going to fall asleep, however the teenager presumed too much. Dean opened his eyes again. "What happened to your family?

Reaves exhaled sharply. He didn't talk about his family, much to Mac's dismay. The memories were his to cultivate and maintain, not to share. "It's not a bed time story, Mac'll kill me."

"You can tell me." Dean perked up. "I won't say anything. I promise."

"Yeah, I get that you can be trusted to stay quiet." Dean had been quiet, shutting his voice. "I swear, you say anything it will be like the Godfather all over again."

"Who's the godfather?"

Caleb shook his head. "Never mind." He had to remember Dean was five, going on six and lacked a pop culture education. Caleb thought seven was a good age to introduce Dean to the Corleone saga. "I don't like to talk about them. . ."

Dean reached out a hand, and brushed it against Caleb's arm. It was only a second of contact, but it was strangely reassuring. Reaves started his story. "My Mom she was beautiful and my Dad he was tall and strong. He didn't smile a lot. We had this house by the water-went every summer. I liked it." For a moment Caleb could smell the salty, fresh air and hear the seagulls. But he also remembered the rest. "Mom and Dad were fighting and something happened to my Dad." Reaves censored himself, omitting that the newspapers called it a murder-suicide. But, he knew better. He knew the truth. "I hate the ocean now—it makes me sick." He said it more harshly than he intended.

But the five-year-old seemed to understand. "I don't want to go home either," Dean said sealing their common bond. "I think maybe your mom and my mom would have been friends."

"Maybe." Caleb smiled. "Get some sleep, I'll take this watch."

The teen had the intention of staying in the room until Dean fell asleep, but the next thing he knew a little hand was slapping him on the face.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled. But the little hand continued and wiped down his face.

"What?" he grabbed the hand and opened his eyes. Sam Winchester smiled above him, wiggling his hand out of Caleb's grip.

Dean was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his stocking in his lap. There was a red apple, an orange and a super bouncy ball. Jim sucked at being a Santa.

With a groan Caleb propped himself up, and then noticed his stocking was on his chest, which meant everyone knew he had spent the night with the kids. It was downright embarrassing. "Shit," he uttered.

"Not supposed to use bad words around Sammy." Dean warned, his hair sticking up in tuffs.

He waved off the five-year-old's admonishment. He dumped out the contents of his stocking. There was a pear, banana and some walnuts. "This sucks, want to trade?"

Dean shook his head. He climbed down from the bed, and then reached for his brother, sitting him down with the stuffed lamb. Dean returned to Caleb, who noticed it was six in the morning. He hated six in the morning, seven in the morning and most of the times eight too.

He groaned, and closed his eyes. Dean shook his arm. "What?"

Dean handed him a package of peanut M & M's. "Dad bought them for me on the ride over. You can have them. Mrs. Morris says I know how to share."

Caleb smiled at the yellow wrapper. He liked M & M's too. "You're not too bad Deuce."

The five-year-old cocked his head to the side. "My Dad calls me Ace." He corrected the teenager.

Reaves swung his legs over, and stood up. He tussled Dean's hair. "You're Deuce to me."

They went downstairs, Dean holding his brother's hand and a paper bag in the other. He helped Sam down two steps, before Sam decided it would be faster if he sat down and went down the stairs on his butt.

The adults were already at the kitchen table, with coffee cups in hand. "Merry Christmas!" Jim greeted them.

"I think Santa left something for you Dean." John reached out and picked up his youngest son.

Dean looked up at Caleb, for the last moment playing along that there was such a thing as Santa Claus.

The five-year-old's eyes opened wide when he saw the blue bicycle near the tree. "Is that for me?"

"Yep," John replied with a smile.

Dean studied the bike, touching each part of it. He had forgotten briefly about the brown paper bag. A moment later, he pulled himself away from the new bike and went over to his father who was trying to engage Sammy in playing with his new toy instead of the box. "Dad, I made this for you." He handed his father a slightly crushed, green construction paper scroll. "And Sammy likes to eat paper, so I made him this." He pulled a little sock puppet from the paper bag, made from one of his own socks.

The baby grabbed the puppet and called it "Dean!" John opened the scroll which proclaimed him 'The Best Dad Ever.' He gave his son a hug, not knowing if he actually lived up to the praise or if he ever would.

"Merry Christmas, son," Mac said to Caleb, placing a hand on the back of his neck. He pointed to the pile of gifts in the corner. "I think the Ames family got carried away."

Reaves looked at the pile in awe. The colorfully wrapped gifts were piled as high as his hip. He had already unwrapped, learned what was inside and then rewrapped the gifts. But still, seeing them piled together made him appreciate his eccentric, extended family. They had been welcoming and generous.

Mac noticed the gifts seemed to overtake the room, and knew the Winchester boys had only each received a toy. Caleb was already sifting through the gifts, deciding which one was worth opening again. The doctor bent down and whispered into his adopted son's ear. "I suggest you give one to Dean."

Caleb whipped his head around, incredulous. "Why?" he said loudly.

Mac raised his eyebrows to recommend the teen lower his voice. "Because it's the right thing to do and I said so."

Caleb narrowed his eyes. His hands brushed against a silver wrapped package. "Fine," he said to his father. He picked an electronic game he already had at home. He didn't need two. "Here." The teen interrupted the boy, his brother and father and held out the gift, shaking it to prompt Dean to take it. "Merry Christmas."

Dean glanced at his father and Caleb and carefully peeled away the paper. "Thanks!" He cradled the game in his hands, like a prized possession. He smiled at Caleb. "You know how to share too."

Caleb shrugged his shoulders. He was starting to like this kid. "I'm not giving the M & M's back to you." The teen patted his pocket where the yellow wrapper was safely ensconced.

The motion made him groan. He felt damp with sweat. He tried to open his eyes, to see John, but he was face down on the burgundy palm tree printed bedspread. There was no one with him, he was alone and hurting. Oblivion was welcomed.

* * *

**Thank you to Ridley for letting me use her Caleb. Love ya! Merry Christmas, and here is hoping for a malfunctioning free New Year. Look for her fic, Best and Worst of Times on December 26th.**


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Charge Their Doings

By: Tidia

Disclaimer: Brotherhood AU belongs to Ridley C. James. Supernatural to Kripke.

Notes: This is a joint effort fic with Ridley. Each fic is a fic within itself. This fic it from Ridley's Caleb's point of view. Ridley's fic is called The Best and Worst of Times and features Dean and Sam. All mistakes are my own on this. Reviews are welcome especially since my birthday is tomorrow. Ridley and I know that story alerts are down, but we still plan on posting regardless. Consider it my birthday present to all of you.

Part 2

**"It matters little," she said, softly. "To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve."**

**A Christmas Carol**

Caleb felt someone shaking his arm. It was very insistent. He opened his eyes though it took all his waning strength. There, right above him, was Pastor Jim with a smile on his face.

"Hello there, my boy. Spot of trouble you found yourself in." Murphy placed a cool hand on Reaves's forehead.

Caleb accepted the touch and found comfort in it. He wanted to reach out and touch the face of his beloved friend. But he was only able to lift his hand an inch off the bed before it trembled with effort and fell back. He closed his eyes, remembering the demon's threat of sending his minions to visit. He groaned. He didn't want to believe the demon had gotten to Jim too. "How could you of all people be involved with the demon? Didn't you go to a better place?"

Jim let his hand travel to Caleb's cheek then lightly patted it. "You believe in heaven?"

"Yes, no." The psychic cleared his throat as his voice cracked from hoarseness. "I mean-I asked you the question."

"A good one." The dead minister rubbed his chin. "Let's just say this is a special guest appearance."

Caleb knew he was in trouble when he heard Jim being sarcastic and witty. He needed to find his way to safety. "God, Jim, I need help."

The minister looked around. In a lower voice he tried to console the younger man. "You need to be strong, my boy. Mac would be lost without you."

Reaves shook his head from side to side. Maybe his fate was to die before the final battle. His father would disagree, seeing things on a more scientific than mythological level. "I'm not that important," he mumbled, as the inviting darkness was encroaching, narrowing in on him. Caleb wondered if he could possibly fail at being a Knight without actually being officially named the Knight. He licked his lips. "I just need to rest, just for minute." Reaves knew it was a lie, like watching TV and sleeping during commercials.

"No, Caleb, you need to see, to see so much," Jim said loudly, and pressed his hands against the psychic's cheeks until he was satisfied Caleb was not slipping away. "Trust me."

"I'm scared, Jim." Caleb flinched as he uttered the words out loud. He had often thought them, but kept the sentiment covered with bravado. He felt he had laid himself bare and exposed.

"Never that, brave knight, never that." Jim placed a hand on the top of Caleb's sweaty head. The psychic felt a momentary surge of energy. His eyes wide open, he saw his father hanging up the phone in his New York City apartment.

Mackland Ames sauntered to the fireplace mantle with a drink in hand. Above the mantle was a scenic ocean scene painting by Amelia Reaves. On the mantle there were photos. John, Dean and Sam fishing and laughing was in one Tiffany's silver frame. Another picture was of Caleb and Jim leaning over a map. He raised his glass to his lost friends.

"Merry Christmas, old friends." The intercom interrupted his toast, announcing his guest had arrived in the lobby. He had been at this Madison Avenue apartment for over ten years now, the longest stretch he had been anywhere. It seemed the Winchesters and Caleb would somehow affect his standing at each prior condominium complex. Overtime he had made a list of excuses he would rotate to explain the blood stains, gun shots and unsavory characters, which was the description used for when Bobby would pay an unexpected visit.

He put the drink down, and neatened his green cashmere sweater. Caleb said it made him look like the Jolly Green Giant. He missed his son, worried for him and wished they were spending the holidays together. This last year more than any other time created a foreboding feeling things would get far worse before they would get better.

Mac placed a grin on his face as he opened the door. "Merry Christmas, Naomi, so glad you could come." Naomi had been his research assistant for fifteen years. She was a soft, round woman with curly, brown, chin length hair.

"Thank you for inviting me Doctor Ames." She had her coat hanging on her arm, and lifted it up to Mac.

He took the coat, placed it on the brass coat rack and stepped back for her to enter his home. "Please, Naomi, call me Mac."

"My friends thought it was crazy for me to spend Christmas Eve with my boss. But, it seemed fitting with Bradley's semester abroad in Australia and my recovery. Thank you for being there for me."

Mac felt uncomfortable with the praise. They worked well together, Naomi needing a job after her acrimonious divorce and the doctor needing someone to organize his research. It had been a great working relationship until he found her crying over some EEGs. She had been diagnosed with early stage breast cancer and didn't want to burden anyone especially her son during his first year in college. Mac helped her as much as he could and so far she had an excellent prognosis for a full recovery.

"Can I get you some eggnog?" Ames remembered his hosting skills. "Dinner is almost ready, just warming up." Luckily, Dean and Deluca provided a wonderful meal, which was safely in the oven.

"Eggnog would be lovely," she replied. She looked around the apartment especially out the French doors to the crisp New York City skyline.

He went into the kitchen to pour her a glass when he heard her calling out a question to him. "Caleb's not coming?"

Mac sprinkled some cinnamon on the drink before bringing it out to Naomi. "His work is keeping him busy this year," he explained, using an answer layered in half-truths.

"Too bad, I can't remember the last time I saw him."

The physician felt a hand squeeze over his heart. It was an emotional response. The last time he saw his son was two months ago over a drink at the Saint Regis Hotel to discuss Tri Corp and Caleb's decision to relinquish day-to-day control. A decision he did not support. He wanted his son to have a balanced life, combining hunting and a life set in the confines of reality. Mac had been a late addition to The Brotherhood, and had an established career before taking up the hunt. He encouraged the younger generation to follow suit. As much as he loved John Winchester, he had always been scared of his zeal for the hunt.

Father and son mutually avoided any conversation about John, Jim and the Winchester boys. It was still all too fresh. "The construction business is booming." Mac replied and reclaimed his whiskey, needing to decrease the constriction he felt in his chest.

"You must be proud of him." She took a sip of her drink, and eyed him over the rim of her cup to gauge his reaction.

"I am." He stated. "He's successful, but he's a good person." He wished Caleb saw the goodness in himself, the good he did. It was hard for his son to get past his demon heritage. It was the reason his son liked bridges. They provided the inspiration that he too could bridge his humanity.

Mac knew his son wasn't an angel. In fact, he knew there were deep chasms of darkness lurking within Caleb. He remembered the first time he had gone to Caleb's apartment. The loft was a two bedroom, and Mac had wanted to view the rooms while his son was on the phone. One room, its door shut, attracted his attention. He tried to open it and was surprised it was locked. He rested his hand for a moment against the wood frame and could sense the horror that lay beyond-Caleb's mother's paintings mixing with the way his son had acquired them. It saddened Mac to discover his son would never share this secret with his adopted father.

He had received a phone call earlier from Sam. He had sensed something amiss. But it wasn't until he felt as if he was eulogizing his son that he knew something was completely wrong. Mac needed a moment to excuse himself. He wanted to call Sam back, and get more information. However, Naomi was asking him another question.

"Are those photos of Caleb's parents?" She gestured to a photo of a couple on one of the mahogany end tables.

Ames nodded. There was another photo on the table too. "And his grandmother."

Naomi walked over to the table. She picked up the picture, and studied it for a moment. "He looks like his mother and you."

Mac was taken aback, momentarily forgetting the urgency to get to the phone. "Me?"

She gave him a wide smile. "Yes, around the eyes."

He shook his head. "I don't think that's possible." He was surprised in Naomi. She knew there was no genetic link between Caleb and Mac.

"Sure, it is." She cocked her head to the side as if she was surprised he didn't see it. "He has some of your mannerisms too as I recall—like demanding attention as he enters a room."

"And his affect on women." Mac relaxed a bit into the leather couch. He had spoken to Caleb a few days ago. His son had told him he was spending Christmas with Sam and Dean. Sam had confirmed the plans as well.

Naomi laughed. "Do I have to answer that?"

"Should I be offended?" The doctor had many lady friends. Caleb wanted to believe his father took a vow of celibacy upon his adoption, but that wasn't the case. Mackland Ames never lacked for female companionship. However, unlike his son he did not flaunt his conquests. "Unfortunately, Caleb's affect on women leads me to believe he will not be settling down anytime soon. It's too bad, because grandchildren would be nice," Mac said wistfully.

"You've been through a lot together." She laughed, and shared the memory making her giggle. "I remember when you were trying to convince the principal of one of Caleb's schools not to expel him."

"Is that the time when Caleb brought a goat to school or the time he had an exotic dancer entertain his eleventh grade class?" There were many similar stories with Caleb playing some kind of prank to overcome the boredom of an education.

But the simple statement that they had been through a lot together was also complicated. They both participated in The Brotherhood. Plus they each had their abilities. Mac was a father with telekinetic and psychic ability. Caleb was his adopted son with horrific visions and his own psychic abilities. Mac had to learn how to be a parent to a boy who had been witness to pain and tragedy, marked by it. Ames also had to acknowledge Reaves needed to grow and wanted space to live his life.

Naomi had been cradling the eggnog, and then placed it down on the coffee table, using a book as a coaster so as to not leave a mark on the fine wood grain. "I was going to tell you this later, but I've decided to be a foster mother and it's because of you."

Ames reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze of congratulations. "That's wonderful." He let her hand go, and looked at his research assistant in puzzlement, picking up on what she had announced. "Why because of me?"

"Seeing you with your son, the way you talk about him . . . you made a difference."

"He made a difference in my life too." Mac's mind filled with memories of his son, how vivid a personality he was, and it wasn't because of his link to the supernatural. The doctor liked to believe he brought out the best in his son, making him a better human being, one who was willing to help and protect others. Ames remembered the person he was before his accident, and how he changed after the accident. Then he underwent another transformation again when he became a father to a very special teenager.

"I've been lucky to have so many people touch my life and leave their mark." Ames cleared his throat of the emotion which caused his voice to lower. John Winchester and Jim Murphy were like brothers to him. So many of his actions were based on what the two men would expect from him. Then there were the younger hunters, his son and Dean and Sam Winchester. They made him proud, and he liked to think he helped them become men with a great sense of character.

Naomi bit her lower lip and stood up. She began to walk over to get her coat. "Mac, you should be spending Christmas with your son."

"You're right, Naomi. The last few months. . . but, stay, and let's enjoy our dinner." He gestured to the dining room table with fragrant pine branches forming a centerpiece. "Tomorrow is another day, and another opportunity. I think I can make it work out." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, the smell of sea bass tickling his nose. He knew the boys were going to be in Virginia. The Ames money and a father's will made anything possible. Sometimes he had to remind his son he had a family, a father who loved him. "But now it's time to eat."

Caleb reached out to his father, wanting to touch the man who raised him, a man he needed. He knew he needed Mac in his life from the first moment he met him at the institution. Mac had been instrumental in saving his life, giving him a purpose to continue on. The scene dissolved in front of him. Caleb tried grasping again and again, but there was only the remnant of nothingness.

"Can't I stay with Mac?" Caleb mumbled, noticing Jim above him once more. His father was home and safety. "I want everything back to the way it was when it would all work out fine." If Mac couldn't make things better then maybe Jim could since the psychic felt so hopeless and weak.

"When the cavalry would rush in at the last minute and of course as I recall there was always an injury involved." The Pastor's eyes twinkled. Caleb had forgotten how Jim's mirth echoed in his eyes.

"The occasional flesh wound and they were battle scars." Reaves still felt warm and pulled at his shirt, trying to take it off or loosen the collar. "But Duran did make things more complicated." The psychic remembered the hunter who had lost his life and place in The Brotherhood.

Jim grabbed Caleb's hand to still them.

"Please, Jim, the Guardian is needed." If John and Jim hadn't died and the Triad was still fully in place, then together The Brotherhood could defeat the demon, the evil, and be strong. That was Caleb's fundamental, core belief. He believed in The Brotherhood.

"Shh, shh, my time has passed, my boy." Jim released Caleb's hands and placed a hand on the psychic's shoulder. "Rally your strength and God will be with you."

Reaves blinked heavily. He was losing the battle, and maybe even the war. "I think God left the building with Elvis a long time ago."

TBC

Please check out  fic is also being posted at SNFanfiction at yahoogroups

Keep a look out for Ridley's next post of The Best and Worst of Times


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Charge Their Doings Brotherhood AU 3/4**

**Disclaimer: Credit to Ridley for creating The Brotherhood AU. Kripke for Supernatural (Please authors when using The Brotherhood or Ridley's characters give her proper credit)**

**Notes: All errors are my own. Thank you for the kind reviews--they are totally unexpected! Okay, I figure I would take some time to answer some questions:**

**1) The demon may or may not be involved. Caleb has been poison and is hallucinating.**

**2) In the first part I rounded up to make Sam 2, but yes he is like 19 months**

**3) There is 8 years age difference between Caleb and Dean**

**4) Dean and Sam do not know they are the next Guardian and Knight respectively. Caleb is not officially The Knight. The Triad is still in place because Mac has not retired nor is he dead, the new Triad will only come into existence when that happens.**

_Part 3_

**_"It is required of every man," the ghost returned, "that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death."_**

**_A Christmas Carol_**

Caleb didn't know how long he languished, feeling nothing and unaware but not restful. He was exhausted and wondered how long it would take for him to meet his demise by poison or the demon.

He felt himself being lifted in a sitting position as if he was a rag doll. He heard the heavy breathing. "Someone put the porn channel on?"

"Do those witticisms really help?"

The buzzing in Reaves's head was worse, forcing him to open his eyes or else his forehead would explode. There was a tall figure, robed in brown homespun; yellow eyes were the only part humanizing the black abyss of a face. "So are you trying for the look of the Emperor or the Jawas? Either way it's not working for you."

The demon stood tall over him, making Caleb feel insignificant. His fetid breath came out in a smoky haze. "Your death will break them all."

Caleb looked straight into the demon's eyes and hoped he didn't flinch. His body was quivering with exertion. "You give me too much credit."

"John, Jim, Caleb, all mine." The demon moved to the four corners of the room as he said each of the names before returning again. "The ones that remain will scatter in bereavement. I will remain and sow my seed."

Reaves knew the demon was speaking about the biblical metaphor in which the devil planted seeds that would grow until the end of days when angels would be sent out to get rid of the evil. "High opinion of yourself." Caleb instinctively wanted to push at the brown cloaked form, but was afraid it would be like grasping at air. Instead he lamely pointed to emphasize his comment. "And I think the story goes that you will be smited or smoot, whatever it is, it won't be pretty."

"You have failed, lowly Knight."

The insult made Caleb force himself to stand. He teetered on his feet, knowing he should be lying horizontal. He shivered as the sweet dripped down his spine. He wanted to throw himself at the demon, but the demon had disappeared. He glanced around the room, turning and finding nothing. He was about to collapse back on the bed to finally rest in peace, but he was interrupted.

Reaves heard something in the hallway. The lights dimmed in his room then came on to full brightness. It was a sign of approaching evil. There was a flickering from the table lamp, and then the room descended into complete blackness. The door to his motel room opened and then slammed shut.

The psychic was too weak to find a weapon to defend himself. He would face the demon with his bare hands. Slowly the psychic ambled to the entry to find someone hunched over on their knees, panting. His hands were splayed against the door.

Caleb bent down, not wanting to spook the man. The quivering mass was not the demon of that he was positive. There was a forceful thump on the door and the man looked up.

Caleb gasped, recognizing the person kneeling before him.

"You have not aged well." The demon reappeared on the other side of the man.

Reaves didn't have a retort. There he was older, face lined with despair. Strands of gray sharply accented his dark hair. He looked ragged, worried and forlorn. The older Caleb went into his leather jacket pocket with his trembling left hand and pulled out a clear plastic bag filled with a white substance. He opened it with his teeth and made a line at the door. He kept his right hand clenched in a fist.

"Do you really think that will stop the evil behind that door?" The demon knelt down so he was talking into the ear of the older psychic. The hooded figure looked up to the present Caleb. "Maybe a hellhound? A zombie or a possessed being? This," he gestured to the salt, "won't stop me."

There was another thump at the door, and the salt line shook becoming thinner. Caleb wondered what brought him to this worn out condition. He looked used up, spent and weakened. This was not the way he thought he would go out. It wasn't that he had a death wish, but he assumed he would die in a battle, never cowering in fear. Caleb wiped the sweat beading on his forehead. He never thought his death would be brought about by poison.

The older hunter bit his lip in uncertainty, and then opened his right hand. There shining through the darkened room were five silver rings.

Caleb stepped back, and would have fallen if the wall was not there to support him. "No." He knew what those rings represented.

The future Reaves folded over, his head practically touched the floor. The demon moved his arm so as to stroke the dejected older hunter's back. "You are all alone. No one is left. No father, no friends and no brothers in arms."

The psychic felt overwhelmed by despair. He had failed Dean and Sam who had counted on him. He had made them promises. Caleb always believed he was a witness to the Winchester saga. He was there to help them, perhaps be there at the final battle or maybe not. But that was why his promises to them were so important because they were the center of it all.

Mac, his own strong father was gone along with Jim and John. He had gotten the tattoo of the dragon to remind him of his duty, remind of where he came from and who made him. He wondered if they had been senseless deaths or caused by the supernatural. They had all died, and he unable to protect them. He had been a failure.

There were times in his life when fear would invade him, weaving its way through all his thoughts. He discovered he could physically push it out of his mind with grueling training sessions. Mac had insisted, without any resistance from Caleb, that his son involve himself in the martial arts. The focus karate required kept him from being consumed. His talents also proved to be a great strength with the hunt and within The Brotherhood.

In this future he was probably the last in The Brotherhood, the rest of the hunters having gone into hiding if the Triad had been destroyed. They hadn't prepared another generation. It would end; end because he had failed in his duty, his quest. The Knight no more.

However, in this present time he had not failed. Yes, he was poisoned, but there was still some life left in him. Perhaps Jim had wanted to remind him he had to keep living, fighting against the evil because once he gave in, he was lost. Caleb stepped forward, finding courage in his darkest moment in his friends, those passed and those that remained. "Demons lie."

"Lie?" The demon hissed. The demon seemed to grow in anger before shrinking down to an overbearing height. "That seems to be a very popular statement. But, I do not lie. The truth is there to see. And I see time running out for you."

There was another hard knock at the door, and the aged Reaves flinched. Caleb saw the line thin out. He bent down so he was close to his older twin's ear. "Think, think," he willed the other Caleb. The present day Reaves was not going to falter even if it took his dying breath.

The demon bent down, talking into the older hunter's other ear. It was an enticing whisper. "You lose. I win."

The older hunter looked over his shoulder at the demon. Caleb wondered if he could see him or sense him.

"Don't listen to him! You can do this!" Reaves yelled to get his aged twin's attention once more. He tried to shake him, but his hand disappeared. Touch was not possible. "Remember what Walt Whitman said," he implored his defeated alter ego.

"The Earth be spanned, lands be welded together." The future Reaves muttered clearly. Caleb smiled, bridges had always been important to the psychic. Perhaps they could bridge the gap between the present and the future.

"You lose. I win." The demon repeated again.

"Shut up! You suck!" He yelled at the demon, then noticed the older hunter had covered his head with his hands in confusion. Caleb tried to calm down and remove the panic from his voice. "Not you, me, whatever."

The aged Reaves pulled his hands down and wiped his face. The salt line was becoming thinner. Whatever was on the other side of the door wanted in.

"That's right. Ignore what's behind door number three." Reaves pondered the problem, trying to come up with a solution to help them both. There was another loud bang against the door causing a hairline crack to form. "Umm, okay, think faster, buddy."

The line was dangerously fine. Caleb didn't dare even breathe on it, scared of the lack of protection. The future Reaves seemed to have the same reaction. But there was a gleam in his amber eyes, and Caleb knew an idea was brewing, a chance at life.

The future Caleb placed the rings in a row up against the salt. He seemed unsure.

"You will fail!" The demon said forcefully.

"Do it! Do it!" Caleb tried to override the demon. They had nothing to lose, the salt line was gone.

The aged Reaves looked up as if wishing for a blessing and then placed his ringed hand down completing the row of silver bands.

For a moment there was silence. Then a glow from one ring caught on to the next and then to its neighbor. A thick bright line formed, like a laser beam. It continued to grow. Caleb could no longer make out his future self. The rings had created a barrier, which basked the door in white energy.

The demon howled as the light became brighter. Caleb looked away as they were all enveloped. He screamed as the blinding light penetrated his being, making him feel like he was breaking apart and being absorbed by the light.

* * *

TBC... 

Please watch for Ridley's Best and Worse of Times.

And check out the revamped New Year!


	4. Chapter 4

Charge Their Doing Brotherhood AU

By: Tidia and Ridley, since this part was written together. So, you will find the same ending on both of our fics. This should tie everything up and start off a bit of a mystery...

Disclaimer: Credit to Ridley for creating the Brotherhood AU and giving personality to Caleb, Mac, Josh g and Jim.

Notes: First of all thank you for the reviews! I hope I answered each one. I take each to heart because I know time is valuable and to use it to write a note is precious.

Secondly, this was such a great opportunity to write with Ridley. A little spooky when we are on the same wavelength. I can't say enough wonderful things about my friend, Ridley –she's smart, original and ready to listen-a true kindred spirit.

* * *

**"And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was!"**

**A Christmas Carol**

_"You lose. I win." The demon repeated again. _

_"Shut up! You suck!" He yelled at the demon, then noticed the older hunter had covered his head with his hands in confusion. Caleb tried to calm down and remove the panic from his voice. "Not you, me, whatever."_

_The aged Reaves pulled his hands down and wiped his face. The salt line was becoming thinner. Whatever was on the other side of the door wanted in. _

_"That's right. Ignore what's behind door number three." Reaves pondered the problem, trying to come up with a solution to help them both. There was another loud bang against the door causing a hairline crack to form. "Umm, okay, think faster, buddy."_

_The line was dangerously fine. Caleb didn't dare even breathe on it, scared of the lack of protection. The future Reaves seemed to have the same reaction. But there was a gleam in his amber eyes, and Caleb knew an idea was brewing, a chance at life._

_The future Caleb placed the rings in a row up against the salt. He seemed unsure._

_"You will fail!" The demon said forcefully._

_"Do it! Do it!" Caleb tried to override the demon. They had nothing to lose, the salt line was gone. _

_The aged Reaves looked up as if wishing for a blessing and then placed his ringed hand down completing the row of silver bands. _

_For a moment there was silence. Then a glow from one ring caught on to the next and then to its neighbor. A thick bright line formed, like a laser beam. It continued to grow. Caleb could no longer make out his future self. The rings had created a barrier, which basked the door in white energy. _

_The demon howled as the light became brighter. Caleb looked away as they were all enveloped. He screamed as the blinding light penetrated his being, making him feel like he was breaking apart and being absorbed by the light. _

_**snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn**_

The light seemed to penetrate Caleb's very being, making him white hot. He didn't know how long he languished in the state, as the light dissipated. He felt as if he was floating voices penetrating the cocoon but the words undistinguishable.

He felt a coolness, and it beckoned him forward. But the coolness seemed deceiving. It was a struggle. He tried to breath, remembering to take a full breath. It was uncomfortable. Then he felt hands holding him. But, he was not going to be held back. It was time, his future self had made the sacrifice, and it would not be in vain. He pushed back at the invading hands, jackknifing to a sitting position.

"I win!" A blanket undulated to his waist. Caleb fell back; strength fled his body, leaving him again gasping for air. He tried to turn to crawl away the demon and his future when he felt the cool hand on his shoulder.

"You win what?"

Caleb blinked, trying to clear his head and watery eyes. He turned his head with a groan as he felt the stiffness in his muscles. He wondered what other tortured spirits would come to him but there sitting on his bed was Dean Winchester.

Standing behind him, with wet dripping hair and a towel draped around his neck was Sam Winchester.

"God, he got to you too…"

"What?" Dean looked at his brother.

"No, Caleb, it's us. We're alive and you are too." Sam explained, remembering Reaves death in his vision, and reassuring him that the brother had not crossed over either. Caleb had returned to the living.

The older hunter grinned at them, feeling their true presence, not some shadow of a dream. He looked around the tacky motel room with its putrid burgundy décor. It was in the motel in his current reality with no demon in tow.

The vestiges of a fever seemed gone as his body was covered in a damp sweat. He was still weak, and closed his eyes. "It's Heatmiser and Snowmiser." He commented still with a grin he couldn't seem to contain. He felt safe. He could not sense any malevolent spirits in the room.

Dean patted his leg and Caleb relaxed back. "Well, Heatmiser and Snowmiser just saved your ass."

Caleb opened his eyes again. He distinctly recalled his battle with the demon. Technically, his future self's battle with the demon. "Did not."

"Did too."

"You're welcome," Sam said breaking the impasse. He took a seat on the other bed.

Caleb raised his hand, waving the brothers away. Both looked weary and relieved. He had a nagging suspicion they had helped him to fight back, to not lose hope. All in all, it was comforting they had come for him. "Yeah, we're so far from even." His voice was gravely from disuse and yelling. His eyes closed on their on volition again, but he fought his body's desire to drift back to unconsciousness. "What happened?" He blinked, giving his head a slight shake to clear the rest of the fog.

"You were poisoned. . ." Sam began.

"Yeah," Reaves interrupted him. "That part I know. The rest? Like how you got here?"

Dean pointed to his brother. "Psychic hotline."

"Way to go, Sammy." Resting back against the pillows he noticed he was feeling better as each minute ticked by –alive. He hadn't remembered calling out to Sam, but if he had it was a wonder the young man had picked up the psychic nuance. He frowned, worrying about the youngest Winchester and his future.

He coughed and scrunched up his nose. What was that smell? "I need a drink." He stated. Dean passed him a bottle of water with the cap removed, and helped to lift him to a seated position. He rolled his eyes as the brothers doted on him, but he had to admit he felt weak. He must have given them quite a scare since they were still looking at him in disbelief as if he would vanish before their eyes. "That's a start." He took a gulp, finishing off the water in a few large swallows. "BooneDocks is the next town over."

Sam stared at him, slack jawed. "You can't be serious! We thought you were going to die."

In fact they had been sure of it. After Caleb had gone limp in Dean's arms, his breathing had all but quit-his pulse slowing to an almost undetectable staccato. Dean had tried to call Sawyer's doctor, but Rodney's analysis of the blood work had turned up nothing He once again offered to admit Reaves, but both brothers realized the battle couldn't be aided by medical means. They were forced to trust in what they had done-to trust Joshua. As the night crawled by neither had left the psychic's side, unwilling to abandon their sentry. But in the early hours of morning, the psychic's fever had broken, giving them hope. A hope that had grown stronger as daylight cast a brighter light on the situation and Caleb's condition continued to improve.

"But, I didn't and we should celebrate," Caleb announced, breaking the brothers' reverie.

He squirmed up, pushing away Dean's assistance. He felt like he could stay in bed for a week, but he had things to do, promises to keep and evil to thwart. "Deuce, stop your hovering and pass me my phone."

The younger hunter shook his head at the man's stubbornness, but stood and moved across the cramped room. He threw the small cell phone at the older hunter. "You're resting up before we go to any bar." Dean glanced at his brother. "I'm going to take a shower. Make sure he doesn't move out of that bed."

Reaves ignored the young hunter. There were only two things on his mind-his father and a shower of his own. "Don't use all the hot water," he called after Dean who let the slamming of the bathroom door suffice as his reply.

Caleb scrolled through his numbers and hit send. Mac answered after two rings. "Hey, Dad, Merry Christmas." He cleared his throat as he felt overwhelming emotion for his father swell. "So, I was thinking that maybe we could spend it together?" He heard his father pause, then answered the question with a snort. "No, I'm fine."

"Sure, for a person who was poisoned and almost died." Sam quipped, saying it loud enough that Caleb thought for sure his father had overheard it. He glared at the younger Winchester brother.

"What?" Reaves replied to his father, who had not heard Sam. "Isn't it perfectly normal to want to spend the holidays with your family?" Caleb saw the younger psychic rolling his eyes; he shrugged his shoulders in response. "Virginia. Great, I'll tell them. See you soon. Oh, and tell Naomi, Merry Christmas."

He hung up the phone with a smile, knowing Mac would be slightly freaked by the Naomi comment. It was good to keep the doctor on his toes.

"After Deuce is done I'll take a shower and then we need to check out of here." He hoped the same motel clerk wasn't still on duty. Either way, he wanted out. The room truly was emanating a strange odor, which Caleb hoped didn't linger on his clothes too. He shifted his legs so they touched the burgundy carpeted floor. He sat there for a moment as a wave of lightheadedness overwhelmed him.

Sam was there instantly, gripping his forearm. He looked down at the bond, and then into the eyes of the youngest Winchester. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam."

"I know." Sam stated with purpose and a patented John Winchester look for good measure. Damned if the kid didn't remind him more of his father everyday. Caleb's gut twisted as he thought of his mentor.

"You're getting cocky there, runt."

"And you're getting back in bed." Sam let him go, but stood his ground, folding his arms over his chest.

Reaves snorted but complied. Despite the fact the adrenaline from waking alive and victorious had abandoned him; he made a show of acting perturbed at the coddling. "I'm fine, goddamnit."

Sam rolled his eyes. The man acted more like his father each day. "Well, only a few hours ago you were dying."

Caleb threw him a look. He didn't remember much of the last twenty-four hours except for what he assumed had taken place mostly in his head. The presence of Pastor Jim and John had seemed so real….and the demon. A shiver ran through him involuntarily. He exhaled loudly in frustration as Sam placed a cool hand on his forehead. "Are you cold? You still feel warm."

"Sam, I'm good." Reaves ducked away from the touch. "Next thing I know, you'll be offering to give me a sponge bath."

Sam's mouth twitched and Caleb groaned. "Tell me you didn't."

"We were trying to save your life, jerk." The smirk grew into a dimpled grin. "Liked the new ink job, by the way."

"Thanks," Reaves growled, but then lowered his voice. He looked down at the ring on his finger and then back up at the younger hunter. "And thanks."

Sam frowned, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "For what?"

Caleb tapped his forehead. "For hearing me." He sighed. "I don't remember trying to reach out to you, but the fact you picked up on it…"

"What?"

"Your abilities kick ass, Sam."

The younger man turned his head, but not before Caleb picked up on the guilty look in the hazel gaze. "Did something else happen?"

Sam gave him an irritated glance and Reaves raised his hands. "I wasn't snooping. Trust me, my head's in no shape to be playing psychic hide and seek, kid."

"The girl…" Sam started and then licked his lips, taking a deep breath before continuing, "the one that poisoned you."

"Yeah." Caleb raked a hand through his sweat-matted hair. "Saint Ann. What about her?" His frown grew. "She didn't come here did she?" The idea that he had underestimated the bitch made him angry, but the thought that she might have tried something with Sam or Dean pissed him off.

"No. I went to the compound."

"You did what?"

Sam ignored the look of disapproval, continuing with his story, at least the abbreviated version. " I couldn't get her to tell me what she used on you." He searched the other man's gaze. "So, I took it from her."

Reaves nodded, letting go of his lecture on the danger of the Solar Temple freaks for the time being. He remembered all to well what the other man was going through. In fact his first attempt at something like that had nearly cost Sam his life. "I almost killed you trying a similar move. I mean I wasn't taking anything, but…"

Sam recognized the flash of pain in the amber gaze. "You were trying to save my life."

"Right. It didn't make seeing the end result any easier though, and I know it's not the same, but sometimes you take a risk to do what's important. And as time goes by you will get more control."

"It…I mean…"

"It was a rush." Again Reaves nodded in understanding. "That's normal, Sam." He gestured to their surroundings. "As normal as it's going to get for us."

"But I wanted to hurt her."

"Kid…" Caleb sighed, recognizing another struggle he still dealt with himself. What if they were evil? What would it take to cross that gap between right and wrong? Would he someday cross that bridge? "You're not a monster, and you're not going to become one. If you had really wanted to do some damage, she would be dead." He raised a brow, when Sam glanced up at him. "She's not having Christmas with her beloved maker is she?"

The younger hunter shook his head. "No."

"Good. Because she deserves to live in hell with that creep Solomon for a while longer."

"Can I ask you something else?"

"As long as it has nothing to do with how I'm feeling."

Sam grinned. "No. It's about visions."

"Okay. That I can handle. Shoot."

"Do they always come true?"

A hint of fear raced through the younger man's gaze and Caleb wished he had the energy to reach out and brush through his thoughts. "Not always."

"How do you know…if they're warnings or memories or something else?"

Caleb laughed. "Those sound like Mackland Ames questions."

"I've been reading the journal."

"Good. That's why I gave it to you."

"Not because you're planning on doing anything stupid?"

"Like getting myself poisoned by a cult?"

Sam glanced towards the bathroom, his voice lowering. "Dean was worried. In fact, it's him you should thank. He didn't leave your side, not even when we knew you were getting better." He met Caleb's gaze again. "I don't want to see him hurt. He's still screwed up over Dad and Jim. I can't lose him, too."

Reaves thought back to what the demon had said, the future he had shown him. He knew exactly how Sam felt. "I'm not going to do anything to risk Dean, Sammy. I promise." He thought about what his carelessness had put the Winchesters through. In his new position, he would have to be more careful. There was too much at risk. Steps had to be taken to prevent The Brotherhood from being weakened. A new generation had to be prepared. That meant the Scholar and Guardian had to be protected. "I'm not going anywhere." The Knight would not fall, not without one hell of a fight.

"Good. I'm glad we're clear on that."

Caleb grinned, feeling a balance start to settle between them. "So, can I have my pants now?"

Dean drove the Impala with Caleb in the passenger seat. Sam followed behind in Reaves's Jeep. The psychic felt well enough to leave, but not strong enough for Dean to trust him behind the wheel of a car.

"Take a right." Caleb said, directing Dean to their destination.

The older Winchester took the right sharply. Caleb knew something was brewing without his psychic abilities. Dean spared a glance then stated, "You had us worried, man."

Reaves felt guilty adding to Winchester's burden. He tried to downplay the situation. "You? Worried? I don't believe it."

"Believe it." Dean shook his head, then glanced in the rearview mirror to check on his brother. "No hunting alone, you know the rules."

Caleb suppressed a smile. The older Winchester had spoken like a Guardian, his destiny. "I had backup."

"Us, saving your ass at the last moment, is not backup." Dean frowned. "And neither is Josh. His phone tag system sucks."

"He's an idiot, but he is part of The Brotherhood." The psychic saw their destination up ahead. He didn't want to comment further. "We're here."

Sam pulled in right behind them. They couldn't miss the BooneDocks. It was decked out with blinking lights, and steady lights of every different color. A large banner over the door proclaimed 'Merry Christmas, Christ is Born Today' and there was large Christmas tree taking up one full parking space.

The younger Winchester threw the Jeep's keys to the psychic. "Quite a place. Very, umm, festive." Sam looked around, taking in the tacky display of holiday cheer.

"They're not into political correctness." Boone and his girlfriend ran the place, and didn't like it when people got into their business. So when the locals wanted places of business to go with non-denominational decorations, the BooneDocks retaliated. "They don't care who they offend." Reaves led the way inside the bar, where the windows glowed invitingly.

Although it was Christmas Eve, surprisingly the bar was doing brisk business. Boone was tending bar. "Boone, I brought you some old friends." The red headed, bear of a man hadn't changed except for the strands of intermittent white in his beard and hair. Boone looked at the brothers without recognition. It had been almost twenty years. "These are the Winchester boys."

"Well, I be damned." The big man held out his hand, Sam accepted it readily. "You're all grown up, Sammy."

"Happens—milk does a body good," Dean said as he also accepted the handshake.

"Dean." Boone bowed his head. "Sorry, about your father, boys. He was a hell of a good man."

There was an uncomfortable silence, both boys still dealing with the death and its repercussions.

Reaves cleared his throat. "They've been going to the Roadhouse."

Boone frowned. "Why would you want to do that? That place sucks." He lifted his burly arms out wide. "You're always welcomed here."

"Thanks, man," Dean replied. He cocked his head to a table in the corner and headed over there with his brother.

Reaves leaned over the bar to speak in low tones to the retired hunter. "That lead didn't pay off. Steer far away from that group."

Boone stepped back and studied the psychic's appearance. "That bad?"

"Yeah," Caleb nodded, reminding himself to stand up straight and show no weakness. He didn't mention the poisoning. Although the BooneDocks was filled with more lightness, less hidden corners and suspicious backrooms, Caleb couldn't risk taking anyone, but a select few, into his confidences. More than likely the red headed man could be trusted, but Reaves did not wish to put him at risk or others. Joshua had originally given him a lead on the cult, and Boone had just confirmed it.

"Sorry, Caleb." Boone sighed. "Drinks on the house?"

In the meantime, Dean and Sam had taken a just vacant table. Dean pushed the glasses and remnants of a meal to one side of the table. They both watched as Caleb talked to Boone in hushed tones.

Dean fished something out of his pocket, laid it on the table and pushed it over to his brother. "Merry Christmas, little brother."

Sam looked at the compass he recalled giving his brother for a Father's Day many years ago. "You're re-gifting? Man, that's tacky."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Well, yeah, umm, I just wanted to say. . ."

The younger Winchester understood. He had given the compass to his brother to show him that he was a guiding force in his life. But, with the death of their father, Dean had become out-of-control with Sam trying to rein him in and be the moral compass. It was his brother's way of telling him he appreciated it. "You're welcome." The younger hunter fingered the inscription written on the back. "But I didn't get you anything. How about we share it?"

"Man, you're cheap," Dean replied with a grin. "He doesn't know how to share either." He said as Caleb rejoined them.

"What did I miss?" Reaves looked at the twosome in puzzlement, but Dean waved off the inquiry with a chuckle.

"What's Boone's story? I remember him when we were kids." Sam asked, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. There was light colored wood paneling, covered with Budweiser, Miller, Coors and Sam Adams signs. A jukebox played Elvis's rendition of a Blue Christmas. There was buzzing amongst the patrons, who interacted with each other like old friends.

Reaves pulled in his chair closer to the table. "Boone left the hunt, opened this place when he got his girlfriend pregnant."

"Who's that?" Dean gestured to the blonde woman in the white surplice top with ample cleavage. She wore a short denim skirt that came above her knees. She threw a smile at patron, as she cleaned up the table.

"His girlfriend, Kathleen- never married her."

"He's my idol." The older Winchester smirked.

Caleb winked at her. She stopped by the bar, picked up a pitcher and brought it to their table. Reaves snaked out an arm around her waist, forcing her to sit on his lap. "When are you going to leave him and go with someone your own age?"

"Maybe next lifetime, Caleb." She patted him on the cheek. "Boone there is my honey."

Boone wasn't paying attention. Instead he was immersed in conversation with another bar patron.

"How's Riley?" Caleb asked Kathleen about her son, who he hadn't seen at the bar. The teen was a leaner version of his father, the red hair marking him as Boone's.

"My baby? All grown up." She gave a mock sniff, then looked at the boys with pride as she talked about her son. "Got a scholarship to Tufts and wants to spend Christmas in Vermont with his friends."

Sam took a long gulp of beer to push down the lump he felt in his throat. Here was a mother proud of her son's scholarship. He knew John had been proud of him, telling strangers of his achievement. He wished at the time his father could have been honest with him.

"Reaves, are you making my woman cry?" Boone yelled, as he spied his girlfriend sitting on the psychic's lap.

"Happens all the time," Dean interjected with a grin.

Kathleen stood up, and waved at her boyfriend. "Just talking about Riley. . ."

"Kid wants to be fuckin' Indiana Jones and major in Archeology, unbelievable. . ." Boone trailed off his comment, as someone stumbling off a stool got his attention.

"He's coming next week." Kathleen crouched down so her blonde head hovered over the table. "I'll tell him you asked about him." She smiled at Dean and Sam, who were relaxing back with their beers. "Do you all need anything else? Hungry?"

Dean didn't hesitate. "Something fried and dripping with grease would be great."

"I like him." Kathleen said to Caleb. "I'm sure we can help you out."

They watched her walk away.

"Drink up, Sammy. We're going to Virginia."

"You sure you're up for this?" Sam looked at the psychic.

"Wouldn't miss it."

Kathleen interrupted the companionable silence with a few baskets of food-chicken fingers, fries, and jalapeno poppers.

Dean immediately took a chicken finger out of the basket, blowing on his fingers as the hot food burned his fingers.

Sam stood up, and the other two hunters looked at him. "I'm just heading to the bathroom," he explained.

Dean placed the basket of jalapeños in front of him. "Go ahead; we'll talk about you while you're gone."

Sam lifted his middle finger as a retort. Dean and Caleb laughed in response. The youngest hunter made his way through the crowd, catching sight of the glowing 'Outhouse' sign. He had just reached for the knob when the door opened and a man nearly plowed into him.

"Pardon me, son." The dark-skinned man grabbed a handful of the front of Sam's jacket to keep him upright and on his feet. "I'd ask you to dance but I'm not as graceful as I use to be."

Winchester nodded, meeting the man's dark eyes. "That's alright." A sense of déjà vu washed over Sam and he tilted his head slightly, studying the smiling stranger. "Have we met before?"

"I do hope that's not a pick-up line, son."

When Sam's face reddened, the man laughed. "I'm kidding."

Winchester studied the man's face. He was nearly Sam's height and looked close to his father's age, perhaps a few years older. There was a good amount of silver peppering his hair, mustache and goatee, but he seemed fit and sturdy. "Sorry." Sam shook his head apologetically. "You just seemed familiar."

The stranger smiled again and it warmed his penetrating gaze. "Well we're all brothers of sorts. Especially this time of year."

"Right." Sam stepped back, a twinge of energy surging through his head. It was enough to have him glancing back towards his brother and Caleb, thinking perhaps the other psychic had tried to contact him.

"Merry Christmas." The man's well wishes brought the young hunter's gaze back to him.

"Same to you," Sam replied and the stranger inclined his head with another genuine smile before returning to a far booth in the corner, where two other men sat, their backs to Winchester.

"That was dangerous." Griffin Porter felt the boy's gaze follow him back to the table, and he had to admit he hadn't expected the young hunter to have any reaction to their contact. Of course, he would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased. With the right guidance, he would make a strong Scholar.

"You're overreacting, Hastings." He said as he took the bench facing his associates. "The boy was too young to remember me, barely six."

Silas lifted his glass and motioned towards one of the tall tables in the center of the crowded bar. "I guarantee you Reaves would recognize you. Perhaps the older Winchester, too."

"And," Hastings interrupted the other man, "We can't afford that."

Griffin gave the younger man a hard look. "Don't tell me what we can afford, boy. I was playing this game when you were still sucking your mama's tit."

Hastings had the good sense to look away. "It's just that I don't understand why you don't let me take him out instead of playing this stupid game."

"Game?" Griffin sighed. "You think this is a game?"

There was a pause and finally the younger man shook his head. "No, sir."

"Good, because nothing could be more serious than the situation we're facing now. I don't care about your petty rivalry with Reaves, either. There is no place for that."

"He has a point, Griffin," Silas spoke again, running a finger around the lip of his glass. "We could save ourselves some trouble by taking them out now. The Knight is weak, he could…"

"He wears a ring. They all do."

"So, _we_ can't kill them, but we can hire other people to do it for us. What kind of code is that?"

"We didn't hire anyone." Griffin glared at Hastings. "We only supplied intelligence to Mr. Solomon. He chose to do the rest. And if we violate the code, what better are we than the monsters we destroy."

"He had our help," Hastings interjected with a snort, and Porter slammed his fist on the table.

"That was your folly. I told you not to get involved and I won't soon forget your insolence. We can't afford for our hands to get dirty. Do you understand me?"

Hastings nodded. "I understand, Griffin."

"Good. Because if we are going to challenge the proposed Guardian, we're going to have to establish a credible standing with the rest of The Brotherhood."

"You're placing a lot of faith on a wild card, Griffin." Silas didn't want to challenge the man in front of him, knew better than to, but he wanted to make sure his concerns were heard. "Gideon may not choose to do this. He has that annoying sense of loyalty, you know."

"Every Guardian should be loyal, Silas."

"But to whom?"

Griffin smiled, glancing towards the Knight-elect and Murphy's chosen successor. "That is the million dollar question, now isn't it?"

Neither Caleb nor Dean knew they were the topic of conversation at a nearby table. The younger hunter finished off his beer, but didn't refill. He toyed with the glass for a moment. "You remember anything?"

"Remember what?" Caleb had been tipping his chair back, lost in the buzzing in his mind. His psychic abilities were still not in focus. Reaves let the chair hit the floor again, his earnest gaze studying his friend.

The oldest Winchester brother placed the glass down, and pushed it off to the right. "Umm, your little near death experience?"

"I wouldn't call it that." Reaves grabbed his own glass. He didn't want to talk about the images he saw. The psychic was confused himself, and sure as hell wasn't going to share the burden with his friend. But, he felt Dean wanted to talk, and since discussion with the oldest Winchester was rare, Caleb facilitated the conversation. "Some, why?"

Dean's green eyes were haunted with shadows as he faced the psychic. "I don't remember anything from when I was dying . . . I wish I did"

"Deuce, maybe it's not supposed to work like that." Reaves didn't have an answer. There were some things that were a mystery. He wondered about the ramifications of avoiding the grim reaper not once, but twice.

"What if it could help us, help Sam?"

Caleb studied his friend, hearing the hint of desperation. Dean was carrying an additional burden. The psychic had a feeling he knew what it was, not because he was reading Dean, but of what he had deduced over time. What he had gathered about his own deceased family. "Hey, Sam's going to fine. Not every prophecy comes true."

Dean's eyes opened wide then narrowed unsure if Caleb knew John's secret or not. "Yeah, yeah, you're right." He cleared his throat. "By the way, if you're the Knight, Damien, then who's the Guardian?"

Reaves shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This was a discussion Mac, as the Scholar, was supposed to have with Dean. "I, ahh. . ."

"There you are!" Joshua yelled from the doorway, brushing off imaginary snow from his wool coat. Around his neck he wore a Burberry scarf. "You owe me," he stated as he came forward by their table. "Seeing as how you're alive."

"For what?" Caleb scoffed, and rolled his eyes. "Almost getting me killed?"

Sawyer's face lit up with a grin. He looked at Dean. "You didn't tell him?"

"Nope." Dean crossed his arms. "I thought you had plans."

"They fell through." The blond hunter shook his head. He was not going to be deterred. "Tell him, go ahead. I want to witness his reaction." Joshua said as he tried to take the seat which Sam had vacated. Dean pulled the chair closer to him. With a sigh Sawyer pulled a chair from another table, getting an indignant "Hey!" from another patron. The man had been using the chair to rest his feet.

Joshua folded his hands together. "If you don't tell him, I will."

Dean narrowed his eyes. A smug Joshua was even less appealing than an idiot Joshua. "Hesavedyourlife." The older Winchester brother blurred the sentence into one incomprehensible word.

"What?" Caleb shook his head.

Dean sighed. The psychic was not going to like the fact that Josh had helped them. He and his brother had left out that little tidbit of information on purpose. "Joshcounteractedthepoison."

Caleb blinked, putting together the phrases. "You've got to be fuckin' kidding me."

"No, he's not," Sam said as he returned to the group, taking his seat in between Dean and Joshua. The youngest Winchester gestured to the jukebox. "I think he has every Elvis tune in there."

"A few months ago it was Johnny Cash." Caleb didn't get a chance to come the bar often, but when he did he also noticed a pattern. He grinned, enjoying that Sawyer was being ignored. "Boone's into themes."

Joshua snapped his fingers to get their attention once more. "Hey, I know what you are doing." He pointed at Reaves. "You owe me."

"Owe you what? We're working for the same cause." Caleb pointed to the silver band he wore.

Joshua glanced at his ring. "I went above and beyond. . ."

"You were forced. . ." Dean interrupted.

Sawyer gestured to the Winchester brothers. "They came to my office for god sakes. You know what it took to explain the appearance of Tweedledee and Tweedledum."

"Chevrolet Sucks as I remember." Sam interjected.

Caleb snorted at the insult. He glanced at Dean who rolled his eyes. He had to hand it to Josh, the man was a joy to attack, but every once in awhile they had to throw him a bone. "What do you want?"

Joshua grinned, sensing an opportunity. "Picture of you, 8 by 10, glossy, if you have it."

Reaves coughed. The beer he was drinking spraying out slightly. "Come again?"

Sawyer waved his hands, gesturing it was not for him. "It's for Drew. I haven't presented him with the obligatory Christmas present yet. This will be better than a bonus."

"No fuckin' way." Reaves had met the public relation firm's secretary. He thought the man had even pinched his ass one time too. There was no way Andrew would ever get a picture of him. Caleb took another drink, getting his equilibrium back. "Still all your fault. You gave me the information."

"About that. . ." Josh shifted uncomfortably.

It didn't take a psychic to know that the blond hunter was feeling guilty. "Yeah, about that?" Caleb prompted, not cutting him any slack.

Sawyer glanced around. "I think someone fed me the tip," he said in a hushed tone.

Caleb dropped his head back with a sigh. "To set me up." Damn. Mac had warned him. He just hadn't expected it to start so soon.

Joshua tightened his lips, and gave a quick nod. "Looks like."

"Who would do that?" Sam looked at the hunters in confusion.

"Enemies of The Brotherhood," Dean stated, finishing off his beer. He met Caleb's gaze. "Enemies of The Knight."

Sam wanted to question his brother and the others. He knew the supernatural forces were enemies of The Brotherhood, but it sounded like something more.

Kathleen though interrupted at this point. "Hey Josh, you want one of those fruity drinks?"

Joshua cocked his head, and replied in a condescending tone. "It's a martini and your husband can't seem to make one right. Like I said before, they don't have umbrellas."

"He's **not** my husband." She replied annoyed, and tossed her blonde hair with a huff as she headed back to the bar.

Dean shook his head. "You just spread the love wherever you go, don't you?"

"Shut up. Probably common law husband by this point anyway," Josh mumbled. "Well, if you won't give me a picture," he glanced at Caleb, "then Deuce here still owes me. . .Drew plans on becoming a groupie."

"It's Dean," the older Winchester growled. "LeGrange? The missus was into black magic-a life for a life."

"Ohh. . ." Joshua shrank back, knowing he'd just lost his ace in the hole.

"I don't know Josh. I'm going to have to tell Mac you've been fuckin' up on the intel. Might want to expect a call from him soon." Caleb rubbed his chin and then leaned in. "Can the Scholar take rings away?"

Sawyer leaned away from the psychic, uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you're not dead."

"So what are your plans?" Sam asked, breaking the silence which descended on the table.

"Is that an invite?" Joshua perked up.

Dean laughed. It so wreaked of desperation. "No, not at all." He appreciated that Sawyer had saved Caleb's life, but he still wasn't willing to spend Christmas with the idiot.

Kathleen returned with a martini glass topped off with fruit and five umbrellas. She smiled at the other hunters, and gave them a wink.

Joshua removed the bar paraphernalia from his drink with an indignant huff. "My father is expecting me." He took a swallow and shook his head at the bitterness of the drink. "I should get going." For a moment his eyes glowed with merriment. He sniffed the air around the psychic. "You might want to take another shower, Caleb." Joshua waved at the other hunters. "Merry Christmas."

Reaves inhaled, trying to figure out if that smell from the motel room followed him. "What's he talking about?"

The Winchester brothers looked at each other, but didn't answer. Dean found his voice. "Are you really going to tell Mac?"

"No, like I said, he's our idiot and one of The Brotherhood. Everyone needs a black sheep." Caleb pushed away his glass.

"Mac meeting us in Virginia?" The younger Winchester brother asked trying to remember when was the last time he had seen the neurosurgeon.

"Yeah, says he can't wait to see you."

Dean jutted his chin at Caleb. "Since we're going to be close, maybe we can go to the New River Gorge Bridge?"

Now, it was Caleb's turn to be surprised. He had spoken about the steel arch bridge a few years ago, when they had been trapped in a car accident. "You hate bridges."

The blond hunter shrugged. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Damien."

Caleb still looked puzzled, but he nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Reaves stood up, signaling it was time for them to leave. He was looking forward to spending the next few days together. He felt warm, and content, the memories from his ordeal seeming more and more like a bad dream. Perhaps it was a lull before the storm, but he would take it. "How about you come up to New York City next weekend? Watch the ball drop."

Dean patted Sam's shoulder. "Dick Clark has to be possessed. Isn't he like 100?" They would all be enjoying New Years in New York City.

The end


End file.
